Part 40 (1/2)
”The world is filled with folly and sin, And love must cling where it can, I say; For beauty is easy enough to win, But one isn't loved every day,”
I quoted from Owen Meredith.
”Yes,” he said, ”that is why I want you. Just think a moment; don't say no. You are not vexed with me--are you, Syb?”
”Vexed, Hal! I am scarcely inhuman enough to be angry on account of being loved.”
Ah, why did I not love him as I have it in me to love! Why did he look so exasperatingly humble? I was weak, oh, so pitifully weak! I wanted a man who would be masterful and strong, who would help me over the rough spots of life--one who had done hard grinding in the mill of fate--one who had suffered, who had understood. No; I could never marry Harold Beecham.
”Well, Syb, little chum, what do you say?”
”Say!”--and the words fell from me bitterly--”I say, leave me; go and marry the sort of woman you ought to marry. The sort that all men like.
A good conventional woman, who will do the things she should at the proper time. Leave me alone.”
He was painfully agitated. A look of pain crossed his face.
”Don't say that, Syb, because I was a beastly cad once: I've had all that knocked out of me.”
”I am the cad,” I replied. ”What I said was nasty and unwomanly, and I wish I had left it unsaid. I am not good enough to be your wife, Hal, or that of any man. Oh, Hal, I have never deceived you! There are scores of good n.o.ble women in the world who would wed you for the asking--marry one of them.”
”But, Syb, I want you. You are the best and truest girl in the world.”
”Och! Sure, the blarney-stone is getting a good rub now,” I said playfully.
Annoyance and amus.e.m.e.nt struggled for mastery in his expression as he replied:
”You're the queerest girl in the world. One minute you snub a person, the next you are the jolliest girl going, and then you get as grave and earnest as a fellow's mother would be.”
”Yes, I am queer. If you had any sense, you'd have nothing to do with me. I'm more queer, too. I am given to something which a man never pardons in a woman. You will draw away as though I were a snake when you hear.”
”What is it?”
”I am given to writing stories, and literary people predict I will yet be an auth.o.r.ess.”
He laughed--his soft, rich laugh.
”That's just into my hand. I'd rather work all day than write the shortest letter; so if you will give me a hand occasionally, you can write as many yarns as you like. I'll give you a study, and send for a truck-load of writing-gear at once, if you like. Is that the only horror you had to tell me?”
I bowed my head.
”Well, I can have you now,” he said gently, folding me softly in his arms with such tender reverence that I cried out in pain, ”Oh, Hal, don't, don't!” and struggled free. I was ashamed, knowing I was not worthy of this.
He flushed a dusky red.
”Am I so hateful to you that you cannot bear my touch?” he asked half wistfully, half angrily.
”Oh no; it isn't that. I'm really very fond of you, if you'd only understand,” I said half to myself.
”Understand! If you care for me, that is all I want to understand. I love you, and have plenty of money. There is nothing to keep us apart.